“That is it. And the pension is painfully small. He therefore augments it by means here and there.”
“A violation of some petty ordinance,” Mr. Tagomi said. “The Home Government and its bureaucratic officialdom. I grasp the situation. The old gentleman receives a stipend for his consultation with us, and he does not report it to his Pension Board. So we must not reveal his visit. They are only aware that he takes a vacation.”
“You are a sophisticate,” Mr. Baynes said.
Mr. Tagomi said, “This situation has occurred before. We have not in our society solved the problem of the aged, more of which persons occur constantly as medical measures improve. China teaches us rightly to honor the old. However, the Germans cause our neglect to seem close to outright virtue. I understand they murder the old.”
“The Germans,” Baynes murmured, again rubbing his forehead. Had the pill had an effect? He felt a little drowsy.
“Being from Scandinavia, you no doubt have had much contact with the Festung Europa. For instance, you embarked at Tempelhof. Can one take an attitude like this? You are a neutral. Give me your opinion, if you will.”
“I don’t understand what attitude you mean,” Mr. Baynes said.
“Toward the old, the sick, the feeble, the insane, the useless in all variations. ‘Of what use is a newborn baby?’ some Anglo-Saxon philosopher reputedly asked. I have committed that utterance to memory and contemplated it many times. Sir, there is no use. In general.”
Mr. Baynes murmured some sound or other; he made it the noise of noncommittal politeness.
“Isn’t it true,” Mr. Tagomi said, “that no man should be the instrument for another’s needs?” He leaned forward urgently. “Please give me your neutral Scandinavian opinion.”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Baynes said.
“During the war,” Mr. Tagomi said, “I held minor post in District of China. In Shanghai. There, at Hongkew, a settlement of Jews, interned by Imperial Government for duration. Kept alive by JOINT relief. The Nazi minister at Shanghai requested we massacre the Jews. I recall my superiors’ answer. It was, ‘Such is not in accord with humanitarian considerations.’ They rejected the request as barbaric. It impressed me.”
“I see,” Mr. Baynes murmured. Is he trying to draw me out? he asked himself. Now he felt alert. His wits seemed to come together.
“The Jews,” Mr. Tagomi said, “were described always by the Nazis as Asian and non-white. Sir, the implication was never lost on personages in Japan, even among the War Cabinet. I have not ever discussed this with Reich citizens whom I have encountered—”
Mr. Baynes interrupted, “Well, I’m not a German. So I can hardly speak for Germany.” Standing, he moved toward the door. “I will resume the discussion with you tomorrow. Please excuse me. I cannot think.” But, as a matter of fact, his thoughts were now completely clear. I have to get out of here, he realized. This man is pushing me too far.
“Forgive stupidity of fanaticism,” Mr. Tagomi said, at once moving to open the door. “Philosophical involvement blinded me to authentic human fact. Here.” He called something in Japanese, and the front door opened. A young Japanese appeared, bowing slightly, glancing at Mr. Baynes.
My driver, Mr. Baynes thought.
Perhaps my quixotic remarks on the Lufthansa flight, he thought suddenly. To that—whatever his name was. Lotze. Got back to the Japanese here, somehow. Some connection.
I wish I hadn’t said that to Lotze, he thought. I regret. But it’s too late.
I am not the right person. Not at all. Not for this.
But then he thought. A Swede would say that to Lotze. It is all right. Nothing has gone wrong; I am being overly scrupulous. Carrying the habits of the previous situation into this. Actually I can do a good deal of open talking. That is the fact I have to adapt to.